Bruised Edges

My heart was pounding so hard I was pretty sure it was trying to escape my rib cage. Breathing had become a full-time job, and frankly, I wasn’t doing it very well. I finally stumbled to a stop, pressing a hand against my side as another sharp stitch made me wince.

“Come on, Ivy.” Lana kept jogging in place, looking annoyingly unaffected by the fact that we’d already run several laps. “Just one more.”

“You’re a masochist,” I managed between breaths, bending over with my hands on my knees. “Go on without me. Save yourself.”

She laughed, grabbed my arm, and gave it an encouraging tug. “One more lap, and I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

I looked up at her, still gasping. “You said that last time.”

“And I meant it that time, too.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. Come on.”

I gave her a look, which only made her grin wider.

Against my better judgment, and every survival instinct I possessed, I straightened up and started jogging again. Lana took off ahead of me, her dark ponytail swinging behind her as she rounded the track without the slightest sign of slowing down.

Show-off.

Sometimes I genuinely wondered how we’d managed to stay friends for seventeen years. If anyone ever invented a time machine, I was going straight back to find three-year-old Ivy and drag her as far away from Lana Hill as possible.

Because clearly, nobody had warned little me that befriending this girl would eventually mean getting dragged out of bed at six in the morning, in the middle of February, to run fucking laps around a track in New York.

Lana was a masochist. And I was an idiot for loving her enough to put up with it.

The freezing air stung my cheeks as I struggled to keep up, my legs burning with every step. Strands of my curls had escaped the headband Lana had given me before we left the dorms and were now sticking to my sweaty face. I tried blowing one out of my eyes, which accomplished absolutely nothing except making me look even more pathetic.

Somehow, that lying little bitch managed to talk me into another three laps before finally taking pity on me.

The second she gave me permission to stop, I practically collapsed onto the nearest bench, stretching my aching legs out in front of me.

“Here, you poor thing.”

I looked up to find Lana holding out a water bottle, her cheeks slightly flushed but otherwise looking disgustingly fresh.

I snatched it from her. “I hate you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

I squeezed a generous amount of ice-cold water into my mouth, nearly choking in my desperation to drink it.

“You know,” Lana said, watching me with an amused little smile, “if it weren’t for me, babe, you wouldn’t have that nice ass with all the Oreos you eat.”

I lowered the bottle and gave her a look. “Are you seriously taking credit for my ass?”

“Someone has to.”

“Wow. And here I thought it was genetics.”

“Genetics can only do so much, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. Annoyingly enough, she had a point. If Lana didn’t enjoy torturing me quite so much, my weekly exercise would probably consist of walking to the vending machine and back.

I took another sip of water before looking up at her.

“I love you.”

“I know you do.” She flashed me a smug grin. “What’s not to love?”

“Your masochistic tendencies, for starters. And that special talent you have for getting me into trouble.”

“Fuck off.” She laughed, giving my knee a playful shove. “You love getting into trouble with me.”

“Not before breakfast.”

“Fair enough.” She glanced toward the track, then back at me. “I’m gonna run a few more laps. Do you want to…”

“No.” I groaned, cutting her off before she could finish. “Please, for the love of God, leave me alone.”

Lana burst out laughing. “Okay, dramatic. Stay here and try not to die.”

I waved her away with the water bottle. “Go. Be athletic somewhere else.”

Still grinning, she turned and jogged back toward the track. I watched her go, then leaned against the bench with a sigh.

God, I missed my bed.

I watched Lana make her way around the track, her stride smooth and effortless as she rounded the curve. She’d been running track for as long as I could remember, so naturally, she made the whole thing look ridiculously easy.

Meanwhile, I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body. I could probably break my ankle walking in a straight line if nobody was supervising me.

Footsteps and muffled voices drifted out from the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, drawing my attention away from Lana.

I glanced toward the opening beneath the bleachers, where the voices echoed against the concrete walls. Beyond it, rows of empty seats rose above the track, their metal railings catching the pale morning light.

The red running lanes stretched out in front of me, wrapping around the enormous football field, where white yard lines cut across the artificial turf.

A few patches of frost still clung to the grass along the edges, and the cold February air wasn’t doing my sweaty skin any favors.

I pulled my sleeves over my hands and took another sip of water, watching the tunnel as the footsteps grew louder.

The guy who stepped out of the tunnel was tall, with messy dark hair that looked like he’d barely bothered to run a hand through it. He wore a black quarter-zip that fit snugly across his broad shoulders, paired with black athletic shorts over matching compression leggings. White crew socks and a pair of clean white sneakers finished the look.

Nothing particularly special. The kind of outfit you’d see on just about any guy heading to the gym.

Except, somehow, he made it look ridiculously good.

He had his phone pressed to his ear, his eyebrows drawn together in obvious irritation as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

Not that I blamed him. It wasn’t even seven in the morning. I’d be annoyed if someone called me at this hour, too.

“No, it’s fine. I can cover. I just need to move a few things around.”

He stopped a few feet from my bench, apparently too distracted by his conversation to notice me. Still holding the phone to his ear, he bent forward to stretch, reaching toward the ground with his legs straight.

And, well.

I’d been raised to be a proper lady. At least, that was what my mother liked to pretend.

But not even twenty years of expensive manners had prepared me for the sight of a ridiculously attractive guy bending over right in front of me.

His shorts pulled taut across his ass as he bent forward, and I suddenly found myself very interested in his stretching routine.

Then he shifted his weight, somehow making the view even better.

Oh, for God’s sake.

I was staring. Not even discreetly, either. Just sitting there with my water bottle halfway to my mouth, openly appreciating a stranger’s lower half as if I’d never seen an ass before.

I finally dragged my eyes away and took a long sip of water, hoping it might restore whatever dignity I had left.

Very ladylike, Ivy. Your mother would be thrilled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the word slipping out through gritted teeth.

He straightened abruptly, one hand flying to his hip as his face twisted in pain. For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, his fingers pressing hard into his side. He tried shifting his weight onto his other leg, but immediately winced, his jaw tightening as he let out a sharp breath through his nose.

Ouch. That didn’t look pleasant.

“Hurt?”

He jumped so fast that he nearly lost his balance, whipping around to face me with wide eyes.

I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

Well, that answered that. Apparently, he really hadn’t noticed me sitting right behind him this entire time.

“Jesus Christ.” He pressed a hand to his chest, staring at me as if I’d just appeared out of thin air.

His grey eyes flicked over me before I got my first proper look at his face. He was handsome. Ridiculously handsome, actually. Dark, messy hair, a strong jaw, and full lips that looked almost unfair on a face like that. A faint scar crossed his nose, giving his otherwise gorgeous features a slightly rougher edge.

I’d been so busy appreciating his lower half that I’d somehow missed the fact that the upper half might be even better. Impressive.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said, taking another sip of water to hide my smile.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you.”

“I gathered that.”

He shifted his stance, rubbing his thigh. His expression tightened for a second, and my eyes dropped to where his fingers were pressing into the muscle. The moment he noticed me looking, he stopped.

“Hurt?” I asked again.

“Just cold.”

I glanced at his leg, then back up at him. He didn’t look particularly convinced by his own answer, but I wasn’t about to argue.

“Well, try running after her.” I nodded toward Lana, who had apparently decided that running laps wasn’t enough torture for one morning and was now sprinting back and forth across the turf.

Fucking masochist.

“That’ll get your blood pumping.”

He followed my gaze before looking back at me. “Yeah, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”

My mouth fell open. “Wow. Aren’t you charming?”

I scoffed and took another sip of water, although I was painfully aware of the curls escaping my headband and sticking to my cheeks.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to charm you?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe give me your name first.”

I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “You didn’t ask for it, baby.”

“Tell me your name, baby.”

Okay. That sounded considerably better coming out of his mouth than I’d expected.

“Ivy.”

“Well, Ivy.” He paused, looking me over with an expression that should’ve warned me. “You look like you’ve been dragged backward through a hedge.”

I snorted. “You’re an asshole.”

Naturally, I aimed my water bottle at him and squeezed.

He jumped sideways just before the stream could hit him. “Seriously?”

“You were asking for it.”

He glanced down at the damp patch of pavement beside his sneaker. “Good thing you’ve got terrible aim.”

I lifted the bottle again. “Wanna test that theory?”

He took another cautious step back, keeping a safe distance from my water bottle.

“I’m Brayden,” he said.

“Brayden.” I nodded, letting the name settle for a second. “Fits you better than baby.”

“I’d hope so.” He leaned back on his heels. “You can still call me baby, though.”

“Hmm.” I pretended to consider it. “Smooth.”

He shrugged. “Do you have a phone number, Ivy?”

I blinked at him, then bit back a smile. Well, he certainly didn’t waste time.

“Yeah.” I nodded. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. I tilted my head and gave him my sweetest smile. “Do you want it, baby?”